


Family Business

by sal_si_puedes



Category: Supernatural, Wincest - Fandom
Genre: Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, Edging, Hand Jobs, M/M, Psychological Torture, Torture, Wincest - Freeform, non con hinted at, s12 promo inspired, sexual torture (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:12:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8003242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sal_si_puedes/pseuds/sal_si_puedes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Men (and Women) of Letters of the London Chapter have taken Sam captive, it takes Dean a little over two days to find his brother. After he has eliminated Sam's captors, it rests upon him to deal with the situation he finds Sam in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Business

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BaronSamedi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaronSamedi/gifts), [winchestersinthedrift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchestersinthedrift/gifts).



> Inspired by [these gifs from the s12 promo](http://sammyhale.tumblr.com/post/150150746082/spn-s12-promo-x) and by my dear friends' [Myri](http://baronsamediswife.tumblr.com/)'s and [Becky](http://winchestersinthedrift.tumblr.com/)'s squeeing spree about it. :D
> 
> Thank you ever so much, [Sandy](https://buttheyrebrothers.tumblr.com/), for your beta and for your wonderful comments and suggestions!! <3

The first thing Dean hears when he approaches the door is a pained low moan and a short, mirthless laughter.

“Told you you were going to beg for it sooner or later, _hunter_ ,” a hoarse voice mocks. There is that moan again and it cuts right through Dean’s bones.

Sam. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he can hear his brother spit, his words muffled by the heavy wood of the hut’s door. “Just get it over with.” And, after a long pause and another strangled moan, “Please.”

Dean’s jaw clenches and his fingers tighten around the handle of the colt. He takes a deep breath and kicks the door in, his eyes darting around the room, seeking to take in everything at once. 

Sam, tied to a chair. A woman, crouching in front of the chair and a man, standing behind Sam, holding a knife to Sam’s throat.

The man behind the chair goes down with a shot to the head and the woman, who has her back to the door, doesn’t even get a chance to fully rise or turn around before Dean sends her to the floor with a blast of a kick and a well-aimed hit of the tip of his boot and the handle of his colt knocked against the base of the bitch’s skull.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his fist, the fist that still clutches the gun, Dean looks up.

Sam is tied to a chair, arms and legs tightly bound to the armrests and legs, t-shirt is torn and bloody. His hair hangs in dirty strands and there is blood trickling from a deep, gaping wound on his shoulder. There is no blood on his chest, though, as far as Dean can see through the curtain of Sam’s hair with Sam’s neck bent and his shoulders heaving with labored breathing. So there it is, the first relieved exhale. His brother seems to be both alive and probably all right. 

And Sam is naked from the waist down. His legs are covered with bruises, angry red welts and small, round marks that look a lot like burns. The muscles in his calves and thighs are so tense they look as if they might tear any second. His cock is rock hard, a dark angry red, glistening with slick moisture.

It twitches under Dean’s gaze and Dean snaps back into motion.

“Shit,” he murmurs and takes a quick step towards the chair, only to stop dead in his tracks again when Sam raises his head.

Sam’s face is covered with sweat, grime and blood, there is a huge gash under his left eye and his lips are dry and cracked. They look bitten and there is a faint sheen of blood on them, painting them red like mummy’s lipstick once painted Dean’s little boy lips when Sam was only a tiny baby.

This isn’t right.

Sam’s eyes are laced with something Dean can’t quite place, pain, madness, defiance, a silent plea, Dean doesn’t know and he doesn’t understand. He moves again, those ties have to come off, and fast, they already have cut into Sammy’s skin, they already have drawn blood and—

“Dee.”

That name on Sammy’s bloody lips, that name from so long ago, makes him freeze again, and Sam’s eyes capture his and they don’t let go. They bore into his and take him captive, they tie him to that body in that chair, just like Sam is tied up right here, right now.

“Please.”

They must have edged him for hours, Dean thinks, if not longer. He bites his lips. The first time he touches his brother’s cock has always been decidedly different in his mind. This isn’t right, it isn’t what he wanted, not what he wants, and it isn’t what Sam could possibly want, either. But it is what Sam _needs_ , Dean knows that, so he just nods and takes another step forward. 

He knows he should untie Sam as soon as possible, maybe even see if Sam can bring himself off on his own despite his numb hands, but Sam’s muscles tense and a single drop of sweat runs down his throat and then he says those words again.

“Dee, please…”

Dean holds Sam’s gaze for a moment but then Sam squeezes his eyes shut and tries to stifle a moan as his cock twitches against his stomach.

“Okay.” 

Dean clears his throat and closes the distance between them, crouching down in front of Sam just like that blond bitch had done just seconds earlier.

“Okay, big boy,” he says and spits into his hand, even though Sam’s cock is slick with pre-come. “Let’s get this over with.”

He takes a deep breath and closes his fingers around Sam’s throbbing erection carefully. The skin feels hot and sticky against his palm and Sam hisses as if in pain as soon as Dean touches him.

He should use more spit, Dean thinks, and that’s what he does. He quickly lets go and shifts until he is on his knees and then he spits into his palm a second time before he takes Sam into his hand again. 

Sam is holding his breath and he keeps completely still when Dean starts to move his hand. He strokes Sam slowly but firmly and it takes him a couple of strokes to realize that Sam isn’t breathing.

When Dean looks up, Sam’s eyes are still squeezed shut and he is biting his lips so hard they have turned to thin, white lines. Dean stills his hand and Sam twitches in his grip, his cock swelling to an even more straining hardness.

“Breathe,” Dean murmurs and Sam shakes his head, quickly and vehemently, but he huffs out a harsh breath and then starts to pant shallowly and quickly. “Sammy, breathe.”

Dean resumes stroking Sam, making his movements firm and purposeful. He can feel how close Sam is against the sticky skin of his palm and fingers so he speeds up his strokes to send Sam over the edge and give him the release he so desperately needs.

Sam moans again and when Dean looks up this time, his eyes are closed but his mouth is slightly open. His chest is heaving with quick pants and there is a look on his face that mirrors both agony and determination.

“Please…” Sam whispers, barely audible, and he shakes his head again, mouthing silently, again and again, “Please, please, please…”

“Shit.”

Dean adjusts his position and spits into his hand once more. He takes hold of Sam again and takes a deep breath.

“It’s okay,” he says, running his thumb over Sam’s slit and then fisting down his cock firmly. “You can come now.”

“Oh god…”

Sam’s voice is raw and from the corners of his eyes Dean can see how Sam’s numb fingers try to claw around the armrests they are tied to and he can hear how Sam’s breathing hitches.

“Oh god, please…”

“It’s okay,” Dean says again and strokes Sam even faster. “You can come, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Sammy, it’s okay. You can come now…”

Dean lifts his head once more and the look he finds on Sam’s face makes him want to torture those bastards so thoroughly it’d make Alastair proud. He has never seen so much fear and disbelief on anybody’s face, ever, and he wishes he never had.

“It’s okay, Sammy. I promise, it’s okay. Let go. You can come now, I _promise_ …”

Sam tenses and goes almost completely rigid, just his cock is throbbing in Dean’s hand and he’s panting so hard for a moment Dean fears he is going to pass out. “Please,” he whispers and throws his head back, his hips trying to buck and his cock tries to fuck into Dean’s fist and this is when Dean has to look away.

“Come on, Sammy, you can do it,” he says, trying to get through to Sam. “I won’t look, I promise…”

He closes his eyes and gives Sam one more firm stroke. The sensation of Sam’s cock swelling against his palm, of the pulsing growing to an almost constant throb and then of those erratic jerks as hot, sticky liquid spills over his fingers has Dean nearly bend over and fall to the floor. Sam’s strangled moans pierce Dean’s ears and he tries to drown them with his one voice while he keeps pumping Sam through the waves of his climax.

“Yeah, that’s it, Sammy, like that, just like that, come on, _come on…_ ”

Slowly, the twitching subsides and the spurts grow weaker. Sam’s cock is still incredibly hard in his hand, though, so Dean keeps stroking until Sam peaks again, and this time the noises that fall from his mouth are more like suppressed cries of pain as he falls into the abyss a second time, spills himself over Dean’s fingers again.

Dean thinks that he should stop, that Sam has had enough and that the waves that still wash over him must be even more painful than those of his first climax, but when he slows down and loosens his grip a bit, Sam keens and his hips jerk, fucking his cock into Dean’s fist, so Dean keeps going until Sam has completely emptied himself.

Sam is still hard, but this time when he is done coming, he jerks backwards, trying to withdraw from Dean’s touch, shaking his head.

“Don’t touch me,” he hisses and Dean lets go of him almost instantly.

His hand is sticky with Sam’s come and he wipes it against his chest before he reaches for Sam’s left wrist. Sam’s hands are shaking and his fingers try to clench and unclench but they seem to be too numb to function properly. He needs to get those ropes off of Sam immediately before they cause any more damage or any permanent one. He prays that they haven’t already. 

“I said don’t fucking touch me,” Sam spits even before Dean’s fingers can make contact with the rope or Sam’s skin. 

Dean quickly withdraws and sits back on his heels. His eyes move from Sam’s bound wrist to his face and he lets them wander over Sam’s closed eyelids and his flushed, sticky cheeks. When they reach Sam’s mouth, Sam sucks in a sharp breath and then he bites down on his lips again so hard Dean fears he might bite through them just like that.

“Shit,” Sam hisses sharply and bites his lips again, holding back any sound the third wave of orgasm that rips through him might have drawn from his mouth.

This time it doesn’t last as long but judging by the shuddering breath Sam releases after it is over it hurts just as much.

“Oh god,” Sam moans and Dean fights the urge to grab hold of Sam’s cock again, to bring this to an end once and for all.

“Okay,” Sam pants after a while, struggling to catch his breath. “Okay…” 

Dean nods, even though Sam’s eyes are still closed, and reaches for Sam’s wrist again. “I need to take them off now,” he says as calmly and matter-of-factly as he can. He probably isn’t doing so well.

“Okay,” Sam says again and squares his shoulders. “Do it. Now.”

Dean’s fingers tremble as he tries to loosen the rope and they are still sticky with the drying remains of Sam’s come. He lets go again and shakes his hand, willing his fingers to be steady and his movements to be swift and efficient. 

The ropes fall off and to the ground, first from Sam’s left wrist, then his right and then from around his ankles. Sam flexes his hands carefully and tries to move his legs while Dean struggles to his feet and quickly runs his palms over Sam’s chest and arms and back to check for injuries. 

Thank god he doesn’t find any serious ones, just a couple of bruises and minor cuts and maybe a broken rib. It’s the wound in Sammy’s shoulder and his wrists Dean worries most about.

“Can you stand?” Dean is at Sam’s side when he attempts to rise from the chair, needing three tries until he’s finally on his feet.

When Sam reaches for his arm to steady himself, swaying on the spot for a second or two, Dean keeps as still as possible. He lets Sam hold on to him and when he inhales shakily and lets go again, Dean nods.

“Let’s get you home,” he says and takes a step towards the smashed-in door, but Sam doesn’t move. 

“I don’t know where my pants are,” he says, turning his head slowly, first to the left and to the right. “Or my shoes.”

“It’s okay,” Dean murmurs, turning around again and running his still sticky fingers through his hair. “I have the car right here. There are clothes in the trunk. Come on, we need to get those wounds cleaned and—”

“I thought you were dead,” Sam interrupts and lowers his gaze. When he looks up again, Dean’s stomach drops.

Sam’s eyes are dull and empty. “Why aren’t you dead? I thought…”

“I know,” Dean says and straightens his back. “It’s okay, Sammy.”

“I don’t know,” Sam murmurs, his shoulders sagged and his face bruised by shadows. He still doesn’t move. “I—“ He swallows thickly and then he swallows again and again, and for a moment, Dean is sure Sam’s going to be sick, but he somehow manages to keep control of his body. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Sam croaks after a long pause, avoiding Dean’s eyes. “This. Ever.”

“I know,” Dean whispers and nods.

“And don’t call me Sammy,” Sam adds and for a moment their eyes meet again. “Ever again.”

“Okay.” Dean’s voice sounds hollow, even to himself. “If that’s what you want.”

“I don’t know.” Sam sounds even worse, his rich, warm voice nothing but a wreck of sounds. “Maybe.”

“Okay,” Dean repeats, nodding towards the door. “Now let’s get you home. I’ll patch you up and make you a peanut butter and banana sandwich.”

He will have to tell Sam about Mary soon, will have to fill him in before they reach the bunker. They have two hours in the car. Dean decides to wait as long as possible. Sam doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need whatever may be left of his family now even more fucked up than it already is.

 

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [sal-si-puedes](http://sal-si-puedes.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Come and say "Hi!"!


End file.
